The Golden Book of India: A Genealogical and Biographical Dictionary of the Ruling Princes, Chiefs, Nobles, and Other Personages, Titled or Decorated, of the Indian Empire

message was brought to ask whether his Honour would be served inprivate, the cheery greeting and shake of the hand broke down thecomposure of the old servant who brought it, and he cried, "Oh, sir,to see you thus, and such a fine young gentleman!"

Charles, the only person who could speak, gave the orders, but theydid not eat alone, for Sir Edmund Nutley and Sedley arrived with thelegal advisers, and it was needful, perhaps even better, to havetheir company. The chief of the conversation was upon Hungarian andTransylvanian politics and the Turkish war. Mr. Harcourt seeminggreatly to appreciate the information that Colonel Archfield wasable to give him, and the anecdotes of the war, and descriptions ofscenes therein actually brightened Sir Philip into interest, andinto forgetting for a moment his son's situation in pride in hisconduct, and at the distinction he had gained. "We must save him,"said Mr. Harcourt to Sir Edmund. "He is far too fine a fellow to belost for a youthful mischance."

The meal was a short one, and a consultation was to follow, whileSedley departed. Anne was about to withdraw, when Mr. Lee theattorney said, "We shall need Mistress Woodford's evidence, sir, forthe defence."

"I do not see what defence there can be," returned Charles. "I canonly plead guilty, and throw myself on the King's mercy, if hechooses to extend it to one of a Tory family."

"Not so fast, sir," said Mr. Harcourt; "as far as I have gatheredthe facts, there is every reason to hope you may obtain a verdict ofmanslaughter, and a nominal penalty, although that rests with thejudge."

On this the discussion began in earnest. Charles, who had neverheard the circumstances which led to the trial, was greatlyastonished to hear what remains had been discovered. He said thathe could only declare himself to have thrown in the body, fulldressed, just as it was, and how it could have been stripped andburied he could not imagine. "What made folks think of looking intothe vault?" he asked.

"It was Mrs. Oakshott," said Lee, "the young man's wife, she who wasto have married the deceased. She took up some strange notion aboutstories of phantoms current among the vulgar, and insisted on havingthe vault searched, though it had been walled up for many yearspast."

Charles and Anne looked at each other, and the former said, "Again?"

"Oh yes!" said Anne; "indeed there have been enough to make meremember what you bade me do, in case they recurred, only it wasimpossible."

"Phantoms!" said Mr. Harcourt; "what does this mean?"

"Mere vulgar superstitions, sir," said the attorney.

"But very visible," said Charles; "I have seen one myself, of whichI am quite sure, besides many that may be laid to the account of thefever of my wound."

"I must beg to hear," said the barrister. "Do I understand thatthese were apparitions of the deceased?"

"Yes," said Charles. "Miss Woodford saw the first, I think."

"May I beg you to describe it?" said Mr. Harcourt, taking a freshpiece of paper to make notes on.

Anne narrated the two appearances in London, and Charles added thestory of the figure seen in the street at Douai, seen by bothtogether, asking what more she knew of.

"Once at night last summer, at the very anniversary, I saw his facein the trees in the garden," said Anne; "it was gone in a moment.That has been all I have seen; but little Philip came to me full ofstories of people having seen Penny Grim, as he calls it, and verystrangely, once it rose before him at the great pond, and his frightsaved him from sliding to the dangerous part. What led Mrs.Oakshott to the examination was that it was seen once on the beach,once by the sentry at the vault itself, once by the sexton at HavantChurchyard, and once by my mother's grave."

"Seven?" said the counsel, reviewing the notes he jotted down."Colonel Archfield, I should recommend you pleading not guilty, andbasing your defence, like your cousin, on the strong probabilitythat this same youth is a living man."

"Indeed!" said Charles, starting, "I could have hoped it from theserecent apparitions, but what I myself saw forbids the idea. If anysight were ever that of a spirit, it was what we saw at Douai;besides, how should he come thither, a born and bred Whig andPuritan?"

"There is no need to mention that; you can call witnesses to hishaving been seen within these few months. It would rest with theprosecution to disprove his existence in the body, especially as thebones in the vault cannot be identified."

"Sir," said Charles, "the defence that would have served my innocentcousin cannot serve me, who know what I did to Oakshott. I am _now_aware that it is quite possible that the sword might not have killedhim, but when I threw him into that vault I sealed his fate."

"How deep is the vault?"

Mr. Lee and Dr. Woodford both averred that it was not above twentyor twenty-four feet deep, greatly to Charles's surprise, for as alad he had thought it almost unfathomable; but then he owned hisideas of Winchester High Street had been likewise far moremagnificent than he found it. The fall need not necessarily havebeen fatal, especially to one insensible and opposing no resistance,but even supposing that death had not resulted, in those Draconiandays, the intent to murder was equally subject with its fullaccomplishment to capital punishment. Still, as Colonel Archfieldcould plead with all his heart that he had left home with no evilintentions towards young Oakshott, the lawyers agreed that to provethat the death of the victim was uncertain would reduce the matterto a mere youthful brawl, which could not be heavily visited. Mr.Harcourt further asked whether it were possible to prove that theprisoner had been otherwise employed than in meddling with the body;but unfortunately it had been six hours before he came home.

"I was distracted," said Charles; "I rode I knew not whither, till Icame to my senses on finding that my horse was ready to drop, when Iled him into a shed at a wayside public-house, bade them feed him,took a drink, then I wandered out into the copse near, and lay onthe ground there till I thought him rested, for how long I know not.I think it must have been near Bishops Waltham, but I cannotrecollect."

Mr. Lee decided on setting forth at peep of dawn the next morning toendeavour to collect witnesses of Peregrine's appearances. SirEdmund Nutley intended to accompany him as far as Fareham to fetchlittle Philip and Lady Nutley, if the latter could leave her motherafter the tidings had been broken to them, and also to try to tracewhether Charles's arrival at any public-house were remembered.

To her dismay, Anne received another summons from the other party toact as witness.

"I hoped to have spared you this, my sweet," said Charles, "butnever mind; you cannot say anything worse of me than I shall own ofmyself."

The two were left to each other for a little while in the baywindow. "Oh, sir! can you endure me thus after all?" murmured Anne,as she felt his arm round her.

"Can you endure me after all I left you to bear?" he returned.

"It was not like what I brought on you," she said.

But they could not talk much of the future; and Charles told how hehad rested through all his campaigns in the knowledge that his Annewas watching and praying for him, and how his long illness hadbrought before him deeper thoughts than he had ever had before, andmade him especially dwell on the wrong done to his parents by hislong absence, and the lightness with which he had treated homeduties and responsibilities, till he had resolved that if his lifewere then spared, he would neglect them no longer.

"And now," he said, and paused, "all I shall have done is to breaktheir hearts. What is that saying, 'Be sure your sin will find youout.'"

"Oh, sir! they are sure not to deal hardly with you."

"Perhaps the Emperor's Ambassador may claim me. If so, would you gointo banishment with the felon, Anne, love? It would not be quiteso mad as when I asked you before."

"I would go to the ends of the world with you; and we would takelittle Phil. Do you know, he is growing a salad, and learningLatin, all for papa?"

And so she told him of little Phil till his father was seen lookingwistfully at him.

With Sir Philip, Charles was all cheerfulness and hope, taking suchinterest in all there was to hear about the family, estate, andneighbourhood that the old gentleman was beguiled into feeling as ifthere were only a short ceremony to be gone through before he hadhis son at home, saving him ease and trouble.

But after Sir Philip had been persuaded to retire, worn out with theday's agitations, and Anne likewise had gone to her chamber to weepand pray, Charles made his arrangements with Mr. Lee for the futurefor all connected with him in case of the worst; and after thelawyer's departure poured out his heart to Dr. Woodford in deepcontrition, as he said he had longed to do when lying in expectationof death at the Iron Gates. "However it may end," he said, "and Iexpect, as I deserve, the utmost, I am thankful for thisopportunity, though unhappily it gives more pain to those about methan if I had died out there. Tell them, when they need comfort,how much better it is for me."

"My dear boy, I cannot believe you will have to suffer."

"There is much against me, sir. My foolish flight, the state ofparties, and the recent conspiracy, which has made loyal familiessuspected and odious. I saw something of that as I came down. Thecrowd fancied my uniform French, and hooted and hissed me.Unluckily I have no other clothes to wear. Nor can I from my heartutterly disclaim all malice or ill will when I remember the thrillof pleasure in driving my sword home. I have had to put an end to aJanissary or two more than once in the way of duty, but their blackeyes never haunted me like those parti-coloured ones. Still Itrust, as you tell me I may, that God forgives me, for our BlessedLord's sake; but I should like, if I could, to take the HolySacrament with my love while I am still thus far a free man. I havenot done so since the Easter before these troubles."

"You shall, my dear boy, you shall."

There were churches at which the custom freshly begun at theRestoration was not dropped. The next was St. Matthias's Day, andAnne and her uncle had already purposed to go to the quiet littlechurch of St. Lawrence, at no great distance, in the very earlymorning. They were joined on their way down the stair into thecourtyard of the inn by a gentleman in a slouched hat and large darkcloak, who drew Anne's arm within his own.

Truly there was peace on that morning, and strength to the brave manbeyond the physical courage that had often before made him bright inthe face of danger, and Anne, though weeping, had a sense of respiteand repose, if not of hope.

Late in the afternoon, little Philip was lifted down from ridingbefore old Ralph into the arms of the splendid officer, whoseappearance transcended all his visions. He fumbled in his smallpocket, and held out a handful of something green and limp.

"Here's my salad, papa. I brought it all the way for you to eat."

And Colonel Archfield ate every scrap of it for supper, though itwas much fitter for a rabbit, and all the evening he held on hisknee the tired child, and responded to his prattle about Nana anddogs and rabbits; nay, ministered to his delight and admiration ofthe sheriff's coach, javelin men, and even the judge, with a strangemixture of wonder, delight, and with melancholy only in eyes andundertones.

CHAPTER XXX: SENTENCE

"I have hope to live, and am prepared to die."

Measure for Measure.

Ralph was bidden to be ready to take his young master home early thenext morning. At eight o'clock the boy, who had slept with hisfather, came down the stair, clinging to his father's hand, and MissWoodford coming closely with him.

"Yes," said Charles, as he held the little fair fellow in his arms,ere seating him on the horse, "he knows all, Ralph. He knows thathis father did an evil thing, and that what we do in our youth findsus out later, and must be paid for. He has promised me to be acomfort to the old people, and to look on this lady as a mother.Nay, no more, Ralph; 'tis not good-bye to any of you yet. There,Phil, don't lug my head off, nor catch my hair in your buttons.Give my dutiful love to your grandmamma and to Aunt Nutley, and be agood boy to them."

"And when I come to see you again I'll bring another salad," quothPhilip, as he rode out of the court; and his father, by way ofexcusing a contortion of features, smoothed the entangled lock ofhair, and muttered something about, "This comes of not wearing aperiwig." Then he said--

"And to think that I have wasted the company of such a boy as that,all his life except for this mere glimpse!"

"Oh! you will come back to him," was all that could be said.

For it was time for Charles Archfield to surrender himself to takehis trial.

He had been instructed over and over again as to the line of hisdefence, and cautioned against candour for himself and delicacytowards others, till he had more than once to declare that he had nointention of throwing his life away; but the lawyers agreed inheartily deploring the rules that thus deprived the accused of theassistance of an advocate in examining witnesses and defendinghimself. All depended, as they knew and told Sir Edmund Nutley, onthe judge and jury. Now Mr. Baron Hatsel had shown himself a well-meaning but weak and vacillating judge, whose summing up was aptrather to confuse than to elucidate the evidence; and as to thejury, Mr. Lee scanned their stolid countenances somewhat ruefullywhen they were marshalled before the prisoner, to be challenged ifdesirable. A few words passed, into which the judge inquired.

"I am reminded, my Lord," said Colonel Archfield, bowing, "that Ionce incurred Mr. Holt's displeasure as a mischievous boy bythrowing a stone which injured one of his poultry; but I cannotbelieve such a trifle would bias an honest man in a question of lifeand death."

Nevertheless the judge put aside Mr. Holt.

"I like his spirit," whispered Mr. Harcourt.

"But," returned Lee, "I doubt if he has done himself any good withthose fellows by calling it a trifle to kill an old hen. I shouldlike him to have challenged two or three more moody old Whiggishrascals; but he has been too long away from home to know how theland lies."

"Too generous and high-spirited for this work," sighed Sir Edmund,who sat with them.

The indictment was read, the first count being "That of maliceaforethought, by the temptation of the Devil, Charles Archfield didwilfully kill and slay Peregrine Oakshott," etc. The secondindictment was that "By misadventure he had killed and slain thesaid Peregrine Oakshott." To the first he pleaded 'Not guilty;' tothe second 'Guilty.'

Tall, well-made, manly, and soldierly he stood, with a quiet setface, while Mr. Cowper proceeded to open the prosecution, with acertain compliment to the prisoner and regret at having to push thecase against one who had so generously come forward on behalf of akinsman; but he must unwillingly state the circumstances that madeit doubtful, nay, more than doubtful, whether the prisoner's plea ofmere misadventure could stand. The dislike to the unfortunatedeceased existing among the young Tory country gentlemen of thecounty was, he should prove, intensified in the prisoner on accountof not inexcusable jealousies, as well as of the youthful squabbleswhich sometimes lead to fatal results. On the evening of the 30thof June 1688 there had been angry words between the prisoner and thedeceased on Portsdown Hill, respecting the prisoner's late lady. Atfour or five o'clock on the ensuing morning, the 1st of July, theone fell by the sword of the other in the then unfrequented court ofPortchester Castle. It was alleged that the stroke was fatal onlythrough the violence of youthful impetuosity; but was it consistentwith that supposition that the young gentleman's time wasunaccounted for afterwards, and that the body should have beendisposed of in a manner that clearly proved the assistance of anaccomplice, and with so much skill that no suspicion had arisen forseven years and a half, whilst the actual slayer was serving, nothis own country, but a foreign prince, and had only returned at amost suspicious crisis?

The counsel then proceeded to construct a plausible theory. Hereminded the jury that at that very time, the summer of 1688,messages and invitations were being despatched to his presentGracious Majesty to redress the wrongs of the Protestant Church, andprotect the liberties of the English people. The father of thedeceased was a member of a family of the country party, his uncle adistinguished diplomatist, to whose suite he had belonged. What wasmore obvious than that he should be employed in the correspondence,and that his movements should be dogged by parties connected withthe Stewart family? Already there was too much experience of howfar even the most estimable and conscientious might be blinded bythe sentiment that they dignified by the title of loyalty. Thedeceased had already been engaged in a struggle with one of theArchfield family, who had been acquitted of his actual slaughter;but considering the strangeness of the hour at which the two cousinswere avowedly at or near Portchester, the condition of the clothes,stripped of papers, but not of valuables, and the connection of theprincipal witness with the pretended Prince of Wales, he could nothelp thinking that though personal animosity might have added anedge to the weapon, yet that there were deeper reasons, to promptthe assault and the concealment, than had yet been brought to light.

"He will make nothing of that," whispered Mr. Lee. "Poor MasterPeregrine was no more a Whig than old Sir Philip there."

Mr. Cowper concluded by observing that half truths had come to lightin the former trial, but whole truths would give a different aspectto the affair, and show the unfortunate deceased to have givenoffence, not only as a man of gallantry, but as a patriot, and tohave fallen a victim to the younger bravoes of the so-called Toryparty. To his (the counsel's) mind, it was plain that the prisoner,who had hoped that his crime was undiscovered and forgotten, hadreturned to take his share in the rising against Government sohappily frustrated. He was certain that the traitor Charnock hadbeen received at his father's house, and that Mr. Sedley Archfieldhad used seditious language on several occasions, so that the causeof the prisoner's return at this juncture was manifest, and only tothe working of Providence could it be ascribed that the evidence ofthe aggravated murder should have at that very period been broughtto light.

There was an evident sensation, and glances were cast at theupright, military figure, standing like a sentinel, as if theaudience expected him to murder them all.

As before, the examination began with Robert Oakshott'sidentification of the clothes and sword, but Mr. Cowper avoided thesubject of the skeleton, and went on to inquire about the terms onwhich the two young men had lived.

"Well," said Robert, "they quarrelled, but in a neighbourly sort ofway."

"What do you call a neighbourly way?"

"My poor brother used to be baited for being so queer. But then wewere as bad to him as the rest," said Robert candidly.

"That is, when you were boys?"

"Yes."

"And after his return from his travels?"

"It was the same then. He was too fine a gentleman for any one'staste."

"You speak generally. Was there any especial animosity?"

"My brother bought a horse that Archfield was after."

"Was there any dispute over it?"

"Not that I know of."

"Can you give an instance of displeasure manifested by the prisonerat the deceased?"

"I have seen him look black when my brother held a gate open for hiswife."

"Then there were gallant attentions towards Mrs. Archfield?"

Charles's face flushed, and he made a step forward, but Robertgruffly answered: "No more than civility; but he had gotFrenchified manners, and liked to tease Archfield."

"Did they ever come to high words before you?"

"No. They knew better."

"Thank you, Mr. Oakshott," said the prisoner, as it was intimatedthat Mr. Cowper had finished. "You bear witness that only the mostinnocent civility ever passed between your brother and my poor youngwife?"

"Certainly," responded Robert.

"Nothing that could cause serious resentment, if it excited passingannoyance."

"Nothing."

"What were your brother's political opinions?"

"Well"--with some slow consideration--"he admired the Queen as was,and could not abide the Prince of Orange. My father was always _athim_ for it."

"Would you think him likely to be an emissary to Holland?"

"No one less likely."

But Mr. Cowper started up. "Sir, I believe you are the youngerbrother?"

"Yes."

"How old were you at the time?"

"Nigh upon nineteen."

"Oh!" as if that accounted for his ignorance.

The prisoner continued, and asked whether search was made when thedeceased was missed.

"Hardly any."

"Why not?"

"He was never content at home, and we believed he had gone to myuncle in Muscovy."

"What led you to examine the vault?"

"My wife was disquieted by stories of my brother's ghost beingseen."

"Did you ever see this ghost?"

"No, never."

That was all that was made of Robert Oakshott, and then again cameAnne Woodford's turn, and Mr. Cowper was more satirical and lessconsiderate than the day before. Still it was a less dreadfulordeal than previously, though she had to tell the worst, for sheknew her ground better, and then there was throughout wonderfulsupport in Charles's eyes, which told her, whenever she glancedtowards him, that she was doing right and as he wished. As she hadnot heard the speech for the prosecution it was a shock, afteridentifying herself a niece to a 'non-swearing' clergyman, to beasked about the night of the bonfire, and to be forced to tell thatMrs. Archfield had insisted on getting out of the carriage andwalking about with Mr. Oakshott.

"Was the prisoner present?"

"He came up after a time."

"Did he show any displeasure?"

"He thought it bad for her health."

"Did any words pass between him and the deceased?"

"Not that I remember."

"And now, madam, will you be good enough to recur to the followingmorning, and continue the testimony in which you were interruptedthe day before yesterday? What was the hour?"

"The church clock struck five just after."

"May I ask what took a young gentlewoman out at such an untimelyhour? Did you expect to meet any one?"

"No indeed, sir," said Anne hotly. "I had been asked to gather someherbs to carry to a friend."

"Ah! And why at that time in the morning?"

"Because I was to leave home at seven, when the tide served."

"Where were you going?"

"To London, sir."

"And for what reason?"

"I had been appointed to be a rocker in the Royal nursery."

"I see. And your impending departure may explain certain strangecoincidences. May I ask what was this same herb?" in a mockingtone.

"Mouse-ear, sir," said Anne, who would fain have called it by someless absurd title, but knew no other. "A specific for the whooping-cough."

"Oh! Not 'Love in a mist.' Are your sure?"

"My lord," here Simon Harcourt ventured, "may I ask, is thisregular?"

The judge intimated that his learned brother had better keep to thepoint, and Mr. Cowper, thus called to order, desired the witness tocontinue, and demanded whether she was interrupted in her quest.

"I saw Mr. Peregrine Oakshott enter the castle court, and I hurriedinto the tower, hoping he had not seen me."

"You said before he had protected you. Why did you run from him?"

She had foreseen this, and quietly answered, "He had made me anoffer of marriage which I had refused, and I did not wish to meethim."

"Did you see any one else?"

"Not till I had reached the door opening on the battlements. Then Iheard a clash, and saw Mr. Archfield and Mr. Oakshott fighting."

"Mr. Archfield! The prisoner? Did he come to gather mouse-eartoo?"

"No. His wife had sent him over with a pattern of sarcenet for meto match in London."

"Early rising and prompt obedience." And there ensued the inquiriesthat brought out the history of what she had seen of the encounter,of the throwing the body into the vault, full dressed, and of herpromise of silence and its reason. Mr. Cowper did not molest herfurther except to make her say that she had been five months at theCourt, and had accompanied the late Queen to France.

Then came the power of cross-examination on the part of theprisoner. He made no attempt to modify what had been said before,but asked in a gentle apologetic voice: "Was that the last time youever saw, or thought you saw, Peregrine Oakshott?"

"No." And here every one in court started and looked curious.

"When?"

"The 31st of October 1688, in the evening."

"Where?"

"Looking from the window in the palace at Whitehall, I saw him, orhis likeness, walking along in the light of the lantern over thegreat door."

The appearance at Lambeth was then described, and that in the gardenat Archfield House. This strange cross-examination was soon over,for Charles could not endure to subject her to the ordeal, while sheequally longed to be able to say something that might not damagehim, and dreaded every word she spoke. Moreover, Mr. Cowper lookedexceedingly contemptuous, and made the mention of Whitehall andLambeth a handle for impressing on the jury that the witness hadbeen deep in the counsels of the late royal family, and that she wasescorted from St. Germain by the prisoner just before he entered onforeign service.

One of the servants at Fareham was called upon to testify to thehour of his young master's return on the fatal day. It was longpast dinner-time, he said. It must have been about three o'clock.

Charles put in an inquiry as to the condition of his horse. "Hardridden, sir, as I never knew your Honour bring home Black Bess insuch a pickle before."

After a couple of young men had been called who could speak to someoutbreaks of dislike to poor Peregrine, in which all had shared, thecase for the prosecution was completed. Cowper, in a speech thatwould be irregular now, but was permissible then, pointed out thatthe jealousy, dislike, and Jacobite proclivities of the Archfieldfamily had been fully made out, that the coincidence of visits tothe castle at that untimely hour had been insufficiently explained,that the condition of the remains in the vault was quiteinconsistent with the evidence of the witness, Mistress Woodford,unless there were persons waiting below unknown to her, and that theprisoner had been absent from Fareham from four or five o'clock inthe morning till nearly three in the afternoon. As to the strangestory she had further told, he (Mr. Cowper) was neithersuperstitious nor philosophic, but the jury would decide whetherconscience and the sense of an awful secret were not sufficient toconjure up such phantoms, if they were not indeed spiritual,occurring as they did in the very places and at the very times whenthe spirit of the unhappy young man, thus summarily dismissed fromthe world, his corpse left in an unblessed den, would be most likelyto reappear, haunting those who felt themselves to be mostaccountable for his lamentable and untimely end.

The words evidently told, and it was at a disadvantage that theprisoner rose to speak in his own defence and to call his witnesses.

"My lord," he said, "and gentlemen of the jury, let me first saythat I am deeply grieved and hurt that the name of my poor youngwife has been brought into this matter. In justice to her who isgone, I must begin by saying that though she was flattered andgratified by the polite manners that I was too clownish and awkwardto emulate, and though I may have sometimes manifested ill-humour,yet I never for a moment took serious offence nor felt bound todefend her honour or my own. If I showed displeasure it was becauseshe was fatiguing herself against warning. I can say with perfecttruth, that when I left home on that unhappy morning, I bore noserious ill-will to any living creature. I had no politicalpurpose, and never dreamt of taking the life of any one. I was aheedless youth of nineteen. I shall be able to prove the commissionof my wife's on which this learned gentleman has thought fit to casta doubt. For the rest, Mistress Anne Woodford was my sister'sfriend and playfellow from early childhood. When I entered thecastle court I saw her hurrying into the keep, pursued by Oakshott,whom I knew her to dread and dislike. I naturally stepped between.Angry words passed. He challenged my right to interfere, and in apassion drew upon me. Though I was the taller and stronger, I knewhim to be proud of his skill in fencing, and perhaps I may thereforehave pressed him the harder, and the dislike I acknowledge made medrive home my sword. But I was free from all murderous intention upto that moment. In my inexperience I had no doubt but that he wasdead, and in a terror and confusion which I regret heartily, I threwhim into the vault, and for the sake of my wife and mother boundMiss Woodford to secrecy. I mounted my horse, and scarcely knowingwhat I did, rode till I found it ready to drop. I asked for restfor it in the first wayside public-house I came to. I lay downmeanwhile among some bushes adjoining, and there waited till myhorse could take me home again. I believe it was at the WhiteHorse, near Bishops Waltham, but the place has changed hands sincethat time, so that I can only prove my words, as you have heard, bythe state of my horse when I came home. For the condition of theremains in the vault I cannot account; I never touched the poorfellow after throwing him there. My wife died a few hours after myreturn home, where I remained for a week, nor did I suggest flight,though I gladly availed myself of my father's suggestion of sendingme abroad with a tutor. Let me add, to remove misconception, that Ivisited Paris because my tutor, the Reverend George Fellowes, one ofthe Fellows of Magdalen College expelled by the late King, and nowRector of Portchester, had been asked to provide for Miss Woodford'sreturn to her home, and he is here to testify that I never had anyconcern with politics. I did indeed accompany him to St. Germain,but merely to find the young gentlewoman, and in the absence of thelate King and Queen, nor did I hold intercourse with any otherperson connected with their Court. After escorting her to Ostend, Iwent to Hungary to serve in the army of our ally, the Emperor,against the Turks, the enemies of all Christians. After a severewound, I have come home, knowing nothing of conspiracies, and I wastaken by surprise on arriving here at Winchester at finding that mycousin was on his trial for the unfortunate deed into which I wasbetrayed by haste and passion, but entirely without premeditation orintent to do more than to defend the young lady. So that I pleadthat my crime does not amount to murder from malicious intent; andlikewise, that those who charge me with the actual death ofPeregrine Oakshott should prove him to be dead."

Charles's first witness was Mrs. Lang, his late wife's 'own woman,'who spared him many questions by garrulously declaring 'what a work'poor little Madam had made about the rose-coloured sarcenet, causingthe pattern to be searched out as soon as she came home from thebonfire, and how she had 'gone on at' her husband till he promisedto give it to Mistress Anne, and how he had been astir at fouro'clock in the morning, and had called to her (Mrs. Lang) to look toher mistress, who might perhaps get some sleep now that she had herwill and hounded him out to go over to Portchester about that silk.

Nothing was asked of this witness by the prosecution except the timeof Mr. Archfield's return. The question of jealousy was passedover.

Of the pond apparition nothing was said. Anne had told Charles ofit, but no one could have proved its identity but Sedley, and hisshare in it was too painful to be brought forward. Three otherghost seers were brought forward: Mrs. Fellowes's maid, the sentry,and the sexton; but only the sexton had ever seen Master Perryalive, and he would not swear to more than that it was something inhis likeness; the sentry was already bound to declare it somethingunsubstantial; and the maid was easily persuaded into declaring thatshe did not know what she had seen or whether she had seen anything.

There only remained Mr. Fellowes to bear witness of his pupil'sentire innocence of political intrigues, together with a voluntarytestimony addressed to the court, that the youth had always appearedto him a well-disposed but hitherto boyish lad, suddenly sobered andrendered thoughtful by a shock that had changed the tenor of hismind.

Mr. Baron Hatsel summed up in his dreary vacillating way. He toldthe gentlemen of the jury that young men would be young men,especially where pretty wenches were concerned, and that all knewthat there was bitterness where Whig and Tory were living nightogether. Then he went over the evidence, at first in a tonefavourable to the encounter having been almost accidental, and thestroke an act of passion. But he then added, it was strange, and hedid not know what to think of these young sparks and the younggentlewoman all meeting in a lonely place when honest folks wereabed, and the hiding in the vault, and the state of the clothes werestrange matters scarce agreeing with what either prisoner or witnesssaid. It looked only too like part of a plot of which some oneshould make a clean breast. On the other hand, the prisoner was afine young gentleman, an only son, and had been fighting the Turks,though it would have been better to have fought the French among hisown countrymen. He had come ingenuously forward to deliver hiscousin, and a deliberate murderer was not wont to be so generous,though may be he expected to get off easily on this same plea ofmisadventure. If it was misadventure, why did he not try to dosomething for the deceased, or wait to see whether he breathedbefore throwing him into this same pit? though, to be sure, a ladmight be inexperienced. For the rest, as to these same sights ofthe deceased or his likeness, he (the judge) was no believer inghosts, though he would not say there were no such things, and thegentlemen of the jury must decide whether it was more likely thepoor youth was playing pranks in the body, or whether he werehaunting in the spirit those who had most to do with his untimelyend. This was the purport, or rather the no-purport, of the charge.

The jury were absent for a very short time, and as it leaked outafterwards, their intelligence did not rise above the idea that theyoung gentleman was thick with they Frenchies who wanted to bring inmurder and popery, warming-pans and wooden shoes. He called stoningpoultry a trifle, so of what was he not capable? Of course hespited the poor young chap, and how could the fact be denied whenthe poor ghost had come back to ask for his blood?

So the awful suspense ended with 'Guilty, my Lord.'

"Of murder or manslaughter?"

"Of murder."

The prisoner stood as no doubt he had faced Turkish batteries.

The judge asked the customary question whether he had any reason toplead why he should not be condemned to death.

"No, my lord. I am guilty of shedding Peregrine Oakshott's blood,and though I declare before God and man that I had no such purpose,and it was done in the heat of an undesigned struggle, I hated himenough to render the sentence no unjust one. I trust that God willpardon me, if man does not."

The gentlemen around drew the poor old father out of the court so asnot to hear the final sentence, and Anne, half stunned, was takenaway by her uncle, and put into the same carriage with him. The oldman held her hands closely and could not speak, but she found voice,"Sir, sir, do not give up hope. God will save him. I know what Ican do. I will go to Princess Anne. She is friendly with the Kingnow. She will bring me to tell him all."

Hurriedly she spoke, her object, as it seemed to be that of everyone, to keep up such hope and encouragement as to drown the terriblesense of the actual upshot of the trial. The room at the George wasfull in a moment of friends declaring that all would go well in theend, and consulting what to do. Neither Sir Philip nor Dr. Woodfordcould be available, as their refusal to take the oaths to KingWilliam made them marked men. The former could only write to theImperial Ambassador, beseeching him to claim the prisoner as anofficer of the Empire, though it was doubtful whether this would beallowed in the case of an Englishman born. Mr. Fellowes undertookto be the bearer of the letter, and to do his best throughArchbishop Tenison to let the King know the true bearings of thecase. Almost in pity, to spare Anne the misery of helpless waiting,Dr. Woodford consented to let her go under his escort, starting veryearly the next morning, since the King might immediately set off forthe army in Holland, and the space was brief between condemnationand execution.

Sir Edmund proposed to hurry to Carisbrooke Castle, being happily ongood terms with that fiery personage, Lord Cutts, the governor ofthe Isle of Wight as well as a favoured general of the King, whoseintercession might do more than Princess Anne's. Moreover, amessage came from old Mr. Cromwell, begging to see Sir Edmund. Itwas on behalf of Major Oakshott, who entreated that Sir Philip mightbe assured of his own great regret at the prosecution and theresult, and his entire belief that the provocation came from hisunhappy son. Both he and Richard Cromwell were having a petitionfor pardon drawn up, which Sir Henry Mildmay and almost all theleading gentlemen of Hampshire of both parties were sure to sign,while the sheriff would defer the execution as long as possible.Pardons, especially in cases of duelling, had been marketablearticles in the last reigns, and there could not but be a sigh forsuch conveniences. Sir Philip wanted to go at once to the jail,which was very near the inn, but consented on strong persuasion tolet his son-in-law precede him.

Anne longed for a few moments to herself, but durst not leave thepoor old man, who sat holding her hand, and at each interval ofsilence saying how this would kill the boy's mother, or somethingequally desponding, so that she had to talk almost at random of thevarious gleams of hope, and even to describe how the little Duke ofGloucester might be told of Philip and sent to the King, who wasknown to be very fond of him. It was a great comfort when Dr.Woodford came and offered to pray with them.

By and by Sir Edmund returned, having been making arrangements forCharles's comfort. Ordinary prisoners were heaped together andmiserably treated, but money could do something, and by applicationto the High Sheriff, permission had been secured for Charles tooccupy a private room, on a heavy fee to the jailor, and for hisfriends to have access to him, besides other necessaries, purchasedat more than their weight in gold. Sir Edmund brought word thatCharles was in good heart; sent love and duty to his father, whom hewould welcome with all his soul, but that as Miss Woodford was--inher love and bravery--going so soon to London, he prayed that shemight be his first visitor that evening.

There was little more to do than to cross the street, and Sir Edmundhurried her through the flagged and dirty yard, and the dim, foulhall, filled with fumes of smoke and beer, where melancholy debtorsheld out their hands, idle scapegraces laughed, heavy degraded facesscowled, and evil sounds were heard, up the stairs to a nail-studdeddoor, where Anne shuddered to hear the heavy key turned by thecoarse, rude-looking warder, only withheld from insolence by thepresence of a magistrate. Her escort tarried outside, and she sawCharles, his rush-light candle gleaming on his gold lace as he wrotea letter to the ambassador to be forwarded by his father.

He sprang up with outstretched arms and an eager smile. "My bravesweetheart! how nobly you have done. Truth and trust. It did myheart good to hear you."

Her head was on his shoulder. She wanted to speak, but could notwithout loosing the flood of tears.

"Faith entire," he went on; "and you are still striving for me."

"Princess Anne is--" she began, then the choking came.

"True!" he said. "Come, do not expect the worst. I have not madeup my mind to that! If the ambassador will stir, the King will notbe disobliging, though it will probably not be a free pardon, butHungary for some years to come--and you are coming with me."

"If you will have one who might be--may have been--your death. Oh,every word I said seemed to me stabbing you;" and the tears wouldcome now.

"No such thing! They only showed how true my love is to God and me,and made my heart swell with pride to hear her so cheering methrough all."

His strength seemed to allow her to break down. She had all alonghad to bear up the spirits of Sir Philip and Lady Archfield, andthough she had struggled for composure, the finding that she had inhim a comforter and support set the pent-up tears flowing fast, ashe held her close.

"Oh, I did not mean to vex you thus!" she said.

"Vex! no indeed! 'Tis something to be wept for. But cheer up, Annemine. I have often been in far worse plights than this, when I haveridden up in the face of eight big Turkish guns. The balls wentover my head then, by God's good mercy. Why not the same now? Ay!and I was ready to give all I had to any one who would have put apistol to my head and got me out of my misery, jolting along on theway to the Iron Gates. Yet here I am! Maybe the Almighty broughtme back to save poor Sedley, and clear my own conscience, knowingwell that though it does not look so, it is better for me to diethus than the other way. No, no; 'tis ten to one that you and therest of you will get me off. I only meant to show you thatsupposing it fails, I shall only feel it my due, and much better forme than if I had died out there with it unconfessed. I shall try toget them all to feel it so, and, after all, now the whole is out, myheart feels lighter than it has done these seven years. And if Icould only believe that poor fellow alive, I could almost diecontent, though that sounds strange. It will quiet his poorrestless spirit any way."

"You are too brave. Oh! I hoped to come here to comfort you, and Ihave only made you comfort me."

"The best way, sweetest. Now, I will seal and address this letter,and you shall take it to Mr. Fellowes to carry to the ambassador."

This gave Anne a little time to compose herself, and when he hadfinished, he took the candle, and saying, "Look here," he held it tothe wall, and they read, scratched on the rough bricks, "AliceLisle, 1685. This is thankworthy."

"Lady Lisle's cell! Oh, this is no good omen!"

"I call it a goodly legacy even to one who cannot claim to sufferwrongfully," said Charles. "There, they knock--one kiss more--weshall meet again soon. Don't linger in town, but give me all thedays you can. Yes, take her back, Sir Edmund, for she must restbefore her journey. Cheer up, love, and do not lie weeping allnight, but believe that your prayers to God and man must prevail oneway or another."

Yet after the night it was with more hope than despondency, Anne, inthe February morning, mounted en croupe behind Mr. Fellowes'sservant, that being decided on as the quickest mode of travelling.She saw the sunrise behind St. Catherine's Hill, and the gray mistsfilling the valley of the Itchen, and the towers of the Cathedraland College barely peeping beyond them. Would her life rise out ofthe mist?

Through hoar-frosted hedges, deeply crested with white, they rode,emerging by and by on downs, becoming dully green above, as the suntouched them, but white below. Suddenly, in passing a hollow,overhung by two or three yew-trees, they found themselves surroundedby masked horsemen. The servant on her horse was felled, sheherself snatched off and a kerchief covered her face, while she wascrying, "Oh sir, let me go! I am on business of life and death."

The covering was stuffed into her mouth, and she was borne alongsome little way; then there was a pause, and she freed herselfenough to say, "You shall have everything; only let me go;" and shefelt for the money with which Sir Philip had supplied her, and forthe watch given her by King James.

"We want you; nothing of yours," said a voice. "Don't be afraid.No one will hurt you; but we must have you along with us."

Therewith she was pinioned by two large hands, and a bandage wasmade fast over her eyes, and when she shrieked out, "Mr. Fellowes!Oh! where are you?" she was answered--

"No harm has been done to the parson. He will be free as soon asany one comes by. 'Tis you we want. Now, I give you fair notice,for we don't want to choke you; there's no one to hear a squall. Ifthere were, we should gag you, so you had best be quiet, and youshall suffer no hurt. Now then, by your leave, madam."

She was lifted on horseback again, and a belt passed round her andthe rider in front of her. Again she strove, in her natural voice,to plead that to stop her would imperil a man's life, and to implorefor release. "We know all that," she was told. It was not rudelysaid. The voice was not that of a clown; it was a gentleman'spronunciation, and this was in some ways more inexplicable andalarming. The horses were put in rapid motion; she heard thetrampling of many hoofs, and felt that they were on soft turf, andshe knew that for many miles round Winchester it was possible tokeep on the downs so as to avoid any inhabited place. She tried toguess, from the sense of sunshine that came through her bandage, inwhat direction she was being carried, and fancied it must besoutherly. On--on--on--still the turf. It seemed absolutelyendless. Time was not measurable under such circumstances, but shefancied noon must have more than passed, when the voice that hadbefore spoken said, "We halt in a moment, and shift you to anotherhorse, madam; but again I forewarn you that our comrades here haveno ears for you, and that cries and struggles will only make it theworse for you." Then came the sound as of harder ground and a stop--undertones, gruff and manly, could be heard, the peculiar noise ofhorses' drinking; and her captor came up this time on foot, saying,"Plaguy little to be had in this accursed hole; 'tis but the choicebetween stale beer and milk. Which will you prefer?"

She could not help accepting the milk, and she was taken down todrink it, and a hunch of coarse barley bread was given to her, withit the words, "I would offer you bacon, but it tastes as if Old Nickhad smoked it in his private furnace."

Such expressions were no proof that gentle blood was lacking, butwhose object could her abduction be--her, a penniless dependent?Could she have been seized by mistake for some heiress? In thatmoment's hope she asked, "Sir, do you know who I am--Anne Woodford,a poor, portionless maid, not--"

She was again placed behind one of the riders, and again fastened tohim, and off they went, on a rougher horse, on harder ground, and,as she thought, occasionally through brushwood. Again a space, toher illimitable, went by, and then came turf once more, and by andby what seemed to her the sound of the sea.

Another halt, another lifting down, but at once to be gathered upagain, and then a splashing through water. "Be careful," said thevoice. A hand, a gentleman's hand, took hers; her feet were onboards--on a boat; she was drawn down to sit on a low thwart.Putting her hand over, she felt the lapping of the water and tastedthat it was salt.

"Oh, sir, where are you taking me?" she asked, as the boat waspushed off.

"That you will know in due time," he answered.

Some more refreshment was offered her in a decided but notdiscourteous manner, and she partook of it, remembering thatexhaustion might add to her perils. She perceived that afterpushing off from shore sounds of eating and low gruff voices mingledwith the plash of oars. Commands seemed to be given in French, andthere were mutterings of some strange language. Darkness was comingon. What were they doing with her? And did Charles's fate hangupon hers?

Yet in spite of terrors and anxieties, she was so much worn out asto doze long enough to lose count of time, till she was awakened bythe rocking and tossing of the boat and loud peremptory commands.She became for the first time in her life miserable with sea-sickness, for how long it was impossible to tell, and the pitchingof the boat became so violent that when she found herself bound toone of the seats she was conscious of little but a longing to beallowed to go to the bottom in peace, except that some great cause--she could hardly in her bewildered wretchedness recollect what--forbade her to die till her mission was over.

There were loud peremptory orders, oaths, sea phrases, in French andEnglish, sometimes in that unknown tongue. Something expressed thata light was directing to a landing-place, but reaching it wasdoubtful.

"Unbind her eyes," said a voice; "let her shift for herself."

"Better not."

There followed a fresh upheaval, as if the boat were perpendicular;a sudden sinking, some one fell over and bruised her; anotherfrightful rising and falling, then smoothness; the rope that heldher fast undone; the keel grating; hands apparently dragging up theboat. She was lifted out like a doll, carried apparently throughwater over shingle. Light again made itself visible; she was in ahouse, set down on a chair, in the warmth of fire, amid a buzz ofvoices, which lulled as the bandage was untied and removed. Hereyes were so dazzled, her head so giddy, her senses so faint, thateverything swam round her, and there that strange vision recurred.Peregrine Oakshott was before her. She closed her eyes again, asshe lay back in the chair.

"Take this; you will be better." A glass was at her lips, and sheswallowed some hot drink, which revived her so that she opened hereyes again, and by the lights in an apparently richly curtainedroom, she again beheld that figure standing by her, the glass in hishand.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Are you alive?"

The answer was to raise her still gloved hand with substantialfingers to a pair of lips.

"Then--then--he is safe! Thank God!" she murmured, and shut hereyes again, dizzy and overcome, unable even to analyse herconviction that all would be well, and that in some manner he hadcome to her rescue.

"Where am I?" she murmured dreamily. "In Elf-land?"

"Yes; come to be Queen of it."

The words blended with her confused fancies. Indeed she was hardlyfully conscious of anything, except that a woman's hands were abouther, and that she was taken into another room, where her drenchedclothes were removed, and she was placed in a warm, narrow bed,where some more warm nourishment was put into her mouth with aspoon, after which she sank into a sleep of utter exhaustion. Thatsleep lasted long. There was a sensation of the rocking of theboat, and of aching limbs, through great part of the time; alsothere seemed to be a continual roaring and thundering around her,and such strange misty visions, that when she finally awoke, after along interval of deeper and sounder slumber, she was incapable ofseparating the fact from the dream, more especially as head andlimbs were still heavy, weary, and battered. The strange roaringstill sounded, and sometimes seemed to shake the bed. Twilight wascoming in at a curtained window, and showed a tiny chamber, withrafters overhead and thatch, a chest, a chair, and table. There wasa pallet on the floor, and Anne suspected that she had been wakenedby the rising of its occupant. Her watch was on the chair by herside, but it had not been wound, and the dim light did not increase,so that there was no guessing the time; and as the remembrance ofher dreadful adventures made themselves clear, she realised withexceeding terror that she must be a prisoner, while the evening'sapparition relegated itself to the world of dreams.

Being kidnapped to be sent to the plantations was the dread of thosedays. But if such were the case, what would become of Charles? Inthe alarm of that thought she sat up in bed and prepared to rise,but could nowhere see her clothes, only the little cloth bag oftoilet necessaries that she had taken with her.

At that moment, however, the woman came in with a steaming cup ofchocolate in her hand and some of the garments over her arm. Shewas a stout, weather-beaten, kindly-looking woman with a high whitecap, gold earrings, black short petticoat, and many-coloured apron."Monsieur veut savoir si mademoiselle va bien?" said she in slowcareful French, and when questions in that language were eagerlypoured out, she shook her head, and said, "Ne comprends pas." She,however, brought in the rest of the clothes, warm water, and alight, so that Anne rose and dressed, exceedingly perplexed, andwondering whether she could be in a ship, for the sounds seemed tosay so, and there was no corresponding motion. Could she be inFrance? Certainly the voyage had seemed interminable, but she didnot think it _could_ have been long enough for that, nor that anyperson in his senses would try to cross in an open boat in suchweather. She looked at the window, a tiny slip of glass, too thickto show anything but what seemed to be a dark wall rising near athand. Alas! she was certainly a prisoner! In whose hands? Withwhat intent? How would it affect that other prisoner at Winchester?Was that vision of last night substantial or the work of herexhausted brain? What could she do? It was well for her that shecould believe in the might of prayer.

She durst not go beyond her door, for she heard men's tones,suppressed and gruff, but presently there was a knock, and wonder ofwonders, she beheld Hans, black Hans, showing all his white teeth ina broad grin, and telling her that Missee Anne's breakfast wasready. The curtain that overhung the door was drawn back, and shepassed into another small room, with a fire on the open hearth, anda lamp hung from a beam, the walls all round covered with carpets orstuffs of thick glowing colours, so that it was like the inside of atent. And in the midst, without doubt, stood Peregrine Oakshott, insuch a dress as was usually worn by gentlemen in the morning--aloose wrapping coat, though with fine lace cuffs and cravat, all,like the shoes and silk stockings, worn with his peculiardaintiness, and, as was usual when full-bottomed wigs were the rulein grande tenue, its place supplied by a silken cap. This was olivegreen with a crimson tassel, which had assumed exactly thecharacteristic one-sided Riquet-with-a-tuft aspect. For the rest,these years seemed to have made the slight form slighter and morewiry, and the face keener, more sallow, and more marked.

He bowed low with the foreign courtesy which used to be so offensiveto his contemporaries, and offered a delicate, beringed hand to leadthe young lady to the little table, where grilled fowl and rolls,both showing the cookery of Hans, were prepared for her.

"I hope you rested well, and have an appetite this morning."

"Sir, what does it all mean? Where am I?" asked Anne, drawingherself up with the native dignity that she felt to be her defence.

"In Elf-land," he said, with a smile, as he heaped her plate.

"Speak in earnest," she entreated. "I cannot eat till I understand.It is no time for trifling! Life and death hang on my reachingLondon! If you saved me from those men, let me go free."

"No one can move at present," he said. "See here."

He drew back a curtain, opened first one door and then another, andshe saw sheets of driving rain, and rising, roaring waves, with surfwhich came beating in on the force of such a fearful gust of windthat Peregrine hastily shut the door, not without difficulty."Nobody can stir at present," he said, as they came into the warmbright room again. "It is a frightful tempest, the worst known herefor years, they say. The dead-lights, as they call them, have beenput in, or the windows would be driven in. Come and taste Hans'swork; you know it of old. Will you drink tea? Do you remember howyour mother came to teach mine to brew it, and how she forgave mefor being graceless enough to squirt at her?"

There was something so gentle and reassuring in the demeanour ofthis strange being that Anne, convinced of the utter hopelessness ofconfronting the storm, as well as of the need of gathering strength,allowed herself to be placed in a chair, and to partake of the foodset before her, and the tea, which was served without milk, in anexquisite dragon china cup, but with a saucer that did not match it.

"We don't get our sets perfect," said Peregrine, with a smile, whowas waiting on her as if she were a princess.

"I entreat you to tell me where we are!" said Anne. "Not inFrance?"

"No, not in France! I wish we were."

"Then--can this be the Island?"

"Yes, the Island it is," said Peregrine, both speaking as SouthHants folk; "this is the strange cave or chasm called Black GangChine."

"Black Gang! Oh! the highwaymen, the pirates! You have saved mefrom them. Were they going to send me to the plantations?"

"You need have no fears. No one shall touch you, or hurt you. Youshall see no one save by your own consent, my queen."

"And when this storm is passed--Oh!" as a more fearful roar and dashsounded as if the waves were about to sweep away their frailshelter--"you will come with me and save Mr. Archfield's life? Youcannot know--"

"I know," he interrupted; "but why should I be solicitous for hislife? That I am here now is no thanks to him, and why should I giveup mine for the sake of him who meant to make an end of me?"

"You little know how he repented. And your own life? What do youmean?"

"People don't haunt the Black Gang Chine when their lives are securefrom Dutch Bill," he answered. "Don't be terrified, my queen;though I cannot lay claim, like Prospero, to having raised thisstorm by my art magic, yet it perforce gives me time to make youunderstand who and what I am, and how I have recovered my betterangel to give her no mean nor desperate career. It will be betterthus than with the suddenness with which I might have had to act."

A new alarm seized upon Anne as to his possible intentions, but shewould not forestall what she so much apprehended, and, sensible thatself-control alone could guard her, since escape at present wasclearly impossible, she resigned herself to sit opposite to him bythe ample hearth of what she perceived to be a fisherman's hut, thusfitted up luxuriously with, it might be feared, the spoils of thesea.

The story was a long one, and not by any means told consecutively orwithout interruption, and all the time those eyes were upon her, oneyellow the other green, with the effect she knew so well of old inchildish days, of repulsion yet compulsion, of terror yetattraction, as if irresistibly binding a reluctant will. Severaltimes Peregrine was called off to speak to some one outside thedoor, and at noon he begged permission for his friends to dine withthem, saying that there was no other place where the dinner could betaken to them comfortably in this storm.

CHAPTER XXXII: SEVEN YEARS

"It was between the night and day, When the Fairy King has power,That I sunk down in a sinful fray,And 'twixt life and death was snatched away To the joyless Elfin bower."

SCOTT.

This motto was almost the account that the twisted figure, withqueer contortions of face, yet delicate feet and hands, and daintyutterance, might have been expected to give, when Anne asked him,"Was it you, really?"

"I--or my double?" he asked. "When?"

She told him, and he seemed amazed.

"So you were there? Well, you shall hear. You know how thingsstood with me--your mother, my good spirit, dead, my uncle away, myfather bent on driving me to utter desperation, and Martha Browninglaying her great red hands on me--"

"Oh, sir, she really loved you, and is far wiser and more tolerantthan you thought her."

"I know," he smiled grimly. "She buried the huge Scot that waskilled in the great smuggling fray under the Protector, with allhonours, in our family vault, and had a long-winded sermon preachedon my untimely end. Ha! ha!" with his mocking laugh.

"Don't, sir! If you had seen your father then! Why did no one comeforward and explain?"

"Mayhap there were none at hand who knew, or wished to meddle withthe law," he said. "Well, things were beyond all bearing at home,and you were going away, and would not so much as look at me. Now,one of the few sports my father did not look askance at was fishing,and he would endure my being out at night with, as he thought, poorman, old Pete Perring, who was as stern a Puritan as himself; but Ihad livelier friends, and more adventurous. They had connectionswith French free-traders for brandy and silks, and when they found Iwas one with them, my French tongue was a boon to them, till I cameto have a good many friends among the Norman fishermen, and to knowthe snug hiding-places about the coast. So at last I made up mymind to be off with them, and make my way to my uncle in Muscovy. Ihad raised money enough at play and on the jewels one picks up in anenvoy's service, and there was one good angel whom I meant to takewith me if I could secure her and bind her wings. Now you know withwhat hopes I saw you gathering flowers alone that morning."

Anne clasped her hands; Charles had truly interfered with goodcause.

"I had all arranged," he continued; "my uncle would have given you ahearty welcome, and made our peace with my father, or if not, hewould have left us all his goods, and secured my career. What callhad that great lout, with a wife of his own too, to come thrustingbetween us? I thought I should make short work of him, and give hima lesson against meddling--great unlicked cub as he was, while I hadhad the best training at Berlin and Paris in fencing; but somehowthose big strong fellows, from their very clumsiness, throw one out.And he meant mischief--yes, that he did. I saw it in his eyes. Isuppose his sulky rustic jealousy was a-fire at a few littlecivilities to that poor little wife of his. Any way, when he boreme down like the swing of a windmill, he drove his sword home. Talkof his being innocent! Why should he never look whether I were deador alive, but fling me headlong into that pit?"

Anne could not but utter her eager defence, but it was met with asinister smile, half of scorn, half of pity, and as she would havegone on, "Hush! your pleading only fills up the measure of myloathing."

Her heart sank, but she let him go on, listening perhaps lessattentively as she considered how to take him.

"In fact," he continued, "little as the lubber knew it, 'twas thebest he could have done for me. For though I never looked for suchluck as your being out in the court at that hour, I did think thechance not to be lost of visiting the garden or the churchyard, andthere were waiting in the vault a couple of stout Normans, who wereto come at my whistle. It seems that when I came tumbling down intheir midst, senseless and bleeding like a calf, they did not takeit quite so easily as your champion above, but began doing what theycould for me, and were trying to staunch the wound, when they hearda trampling and a rumbling overhead, and being aware that ourundertaking might look ugly in the sight of the law, and thinkingthis might be pursuers, they carried me off with all speed, not somuch as stopping to pick up the things that have made such acommotion. Was there any pursuit?"

"Oh no; it must have been the haymakers."

"No doubt. The place was in no great favour with our own people;they were in awe of the big Scot, who is in comfortable quarters inmy grave, and the Frenchmen could not have found their way thither,so it was let alone till Mistress Martha's researches. So I came tomyself in the boat in which they took me on board the lugger thatwas waiting for us; and instead of making for Alderney, as I hadintended, so as to get the knot safely tied to your satisfaction,they sailed straight for Havre. They had on board a Jesuit father,whom I had met once or twice among the Duke of Berwick's people, butwho had found Portsmouth too hot to hold him in the frenzy ofProtestant zeal on the Bishops' account. He had been beset, andowed his life, he says, to the fists of the Breton and Normansailors, who had taken him on board. It was well for me, for Idoubt if ever I was tough enough to have withstood my good friends'treatment. He had me carried to a convent in Havre, where thefathers nursed me well; and before I was on my legs again, I hadmade up my mind to cast in my lot with them, or rather with theirChurch."

"Oh!"

"I had been baulked of winning the one being near whom my devilnever durst come. And blood-letting had pretty well disposed ofhim. I was as meek and mild as milk under the good fathers.Moreover, as my good friend at Turin had told me, and they repeatedit, such a doubly heretical baptism as mine was probably invalid,and accounted for my being as much a vessel of wrath as even myfather was pleased to call me. There was the Queen's rosary drawingme too. Everything else was over with me, and it seemed to open anew life. So, bless me, what a soft and pious frame I was in whenthey chastened me, water, oil, salt and all, on what my father ragedat folks calling Lammas Day, but which it seems really belongs toSt. Peter in the Fetters. So I was named Pierre or Piers after him,thus keeping my own initial."

"Piers! oh! not Piers Pigwiggin?"

"Pierre de Pilpignon, if you please. I have a right to that too;but we shall come to it by and by. I can laugh now, or perhapsweep, over the fervid state I was in then, as if I had trodden downmy snake, and by giving up everything--you, estate, career, I couldkeep him down. So it was settled that I would devote myself to thepriesthood--don't laugh!--and I was ordered off to their seminary inLondon, partly, I believe, for the sake of piloting a couple offathers, who could not speak a word of English. It was, as theyrightly judged, the last place where my father would think oflooking for me, but they did not as rightly judge that we shouldlong keep possession there. Matters grew serious, and it was notover safe in the streets. There was a letter of importance from afriend in Holland, carrying the Prince of Orange's hypocriticalDeclaration, which was to be got to Father Petre or the King on thenight--Hallowmas Eve it was--and I was told off to put on a seculardress, which I could wear more naturally than most of them, andconvey it."

"Ah, that explains!"

"Apparition number one! I guessed you were somewhere in thoseparts, and looked up at the windows, and though I did not see you, Ibelieve it was your eyes that first sent a thrill through me thatboded ill for Roman orders. After that we lived in a continualstate of rumours and alarms, secret messages and expeditions, untilI, being strong in the arm and the wind and a feather-weight, wasone of those honoured by rowing the Queen and Prince across theriver. M. de St. Victor accepted me. He told me there would be twonurses, but never knew or cared who they were, nor did I guess, aswe sat in the dark, how near I was to you. And only for one seconddid I see your face, as you were entering the carriage, and Iblessed you the more for what you were doing for Her Majesty."

He proceeded to tell how he had accompanied the Jesuit fathers, ontheir leaving London, to the great English seminary at Douai, andbeing for the time convinced by them that his feelings towards Annewere a delusion of the enemy, he had studied with all his might, andas health and monotony of life began to have their accustomed effectin rousing the restlessness and mischievousness of his nature, withall the passions of manhood growing upon him, he strove to forcethem down by fasting and scourging. He told, in a bitter, almostsavage way, of his endeavours to flog his demon out of himself, andof his anger and disappointment at finding Piers Pilgrim in theseminary of Douai, quite as subject to his attacks as ever was PerryOakshott under a sermon of Mr. Horncastle's.

Then came the information among the students that the governor ofthe city, the Marquis de Nidemerle, had brought some Englishgentlemen and ladies to visit the gardens. As most of the studentswere of British families there was curiosity as to who they were,and thus Peregrine heard that one was young Archfield of theHampshire family, with his tutor, and the lady was Mistress Darpent,daughter to a French lawyer, who had settled in England after theFronde. Anne's name had not transpired, for she was viewed merelyas an attendant. Peregrine had been out on some errand in the town,and had a distant view of his enemy as he held him, flaunting aboutwith a fine lady on his arm, forgetting the poor little pretty wifewhom no doubt he had frightened to death."

"Oh! you little know how tenderly he speaks of her."

"Tenderly!--that's the way they speak of me at Oakwood, eh? Human,not to say elf, nature, could not withstand giving the fellow astart. I sped off, whipped into the Church, popped into a surpliceI found ready to hand, caught up a candle, and!--Little did I thinkwho it was that was hanging on his arm. So little did I know itthat my heart began to be drawn to St. Germain, where I stillimagined you. Altogether, after that prank, all broke out again. Ientertained the lads with a few more freaks, for which I did amplepenance, but it grew on me that in my case all was a weariness and asham, and that my demon might get a worse hold of me if I got into acourse of hypocrisy. They were very good to me, those fathers, butJesuits as they were, I doubt whether they ever fathomed me. Anyway, perhaps they thought I should be a scandal, but they agreedwith me that their order was not my vocation, and that we had betterpart before my fiend drove me to do so with dishonour. They evengave me recommendations to the French officers that were besiegingTournay. I knew the Duke of Berwick a little at Portsmouth, and itended in my becoming under-secretary to the Duke of Chartres. A manwho knows languages has his value among Frenchmen, who despise allbut their own."

Peregrine did not enter into full details of this stage of hiscareer, and Anne was not fully informed of the habits that the youngDuke of Chartres, the future Regent Duke of Orleans, was alreadydeveloping, but she gathered that, what the young man called hisdemon, had nearly undisputed sway over him, and she had not spenteight months at St. Germain without knowing by report of thedissolute manners of the substratum of fashionable society at Paris,even though outward decorum had been restored by Madame deMaintenon. Yet he seemed to have been crossed by fits of vehementpenitence, and almost the saddest part of the story was the mockingtone in which he alluded to these.

He had sought service at the Court in the hope of meeting MissWoodford there, and had been grievously disappointed when he foundthat she had long since returned to England. The sight of thegracious and lovely countenance of the exiled Queen seemed always tohave moved and touched him, as in some inexplicable manner her eyesand expression recalled to him those of Mrs. Woodford and Anne; butthe thought had apparently only stung him into the sense of beingforsaken and abandoned to his own devices or those of his evilspirit.

One incident, occurring some three years previously, he told morefully, as it had a considerable effect on his life. "I wasattending the Duke in the gardens at Versailles," he said, "when wewere aware of a great commotion. All the gentlemen were standinggazing up into the top of a great chestnut tree, the King and all,and in the midst stood the Abbe de Fenelon with his little pupils,the youngest, the Duke of Anjou, sobbing piteously, and the Duke ofBurgundy in a furious passion, stamping and raging, and onlywithheld from rolling on the ground by the Abbe's hand grasping hisshoulder. 'I will not have him killed! He is mine,' he cried. Andup in the tree, the object of all their gaze, was a monkey with apaper fluttering in his hand. Some one had made a present of thecreature to the King's grandsons; he was the reigning favourite, andhaving broken his chain, had effected an entrance by the window intothe King's cabinet, where after giving himself the airs of aminister of state, on being interrupted, he had made off through thewindow with an important document, which he was affecting to peruseat his leisure, only interrupting himself to hurl down leaves orunripe chestnuts at those who attempted to pelt him with stones, andthis only made him mount higher and higher, entirely out of theirreach, for no one durst climb after him. I believe it was a letterfrom the King of Spain; at any rate the whole Cabinet was in agonylest the brute should proceed to tear it into fragments, and amusqueteer had been sent for to shoot him down. I remembered mysuccess with the monkey on poor little Madam Archfield's back--nay,perhaps 'twas the same, my familiar taking shape. I threw myself atthe King's feet, and desired permission to deal with the beast. Bygood luck it had not been so easy as they supposed to find a musquetfit for immediate use, so I had full time. To ascend the tree wasno more than I had done many times before, and I went high in thebranches, but cautiously, not to give Monsieur le Singe the idea ofbeing pursued, lest he should leap to a bough incapable ofsupporting me. When I had reached a fork tolerably high, and wherehe could see me, I settled myself, took out a letter, whichfortunately was in my pocket, read it with the greatestdeliberation, the monkey watching me all the time, and finally Iproceeded to fold it neatly in all its creases. The creatureimitated me with its black fingers, little aware, poor thing, thatthe musqueteer had covered him with his weapon, and was waiting forthe first sign of tearing the letter to pull the trigger, butwithheld by a sign from the King, who did not wish to sacrifice hisgrandson's pet before his eyes. Finally, after finishing thefolding, I doubled it a second time, and threw it at the animal. Tomy great joy he returned the compliment by throwing the other at myhead. I was able to catch it, and moreover, as he was disposed togo in pursuit of his plaything, he swung his chain so near me that Igot hold of it, twisted it round my arm, and made the best of my waydown the tree, amid the 'Bravos!' started by the royal lipsthemselves, and repeated with ecstasy by all the crowd, who wavedtheir hats, and made such a hallooing that I had much ado to get themonkey down safely; but finally, all dishevelled, with my best cuffsand cravat torn to ribbons, and my wig happily detached, unlikeAbsalom's, for it remained in the tree, I had the honour ofpresenting on my knee the letter to the King, and the monkey to thePrinces. I kissed His Majesty's hand, the little Duke of Anjoukissed the monkey, and the Duke of Burgundy kissed me with armsround my neck, then threw himself on his knees before hisgrandfather to ask pardon for his passion. Every one said myfortune was made, and that my agility deserved at least the cordonbleu. My own Duke of Chartres, who in many points is like hiscousin, our late King Charles, gravely assured me that a new officewas to be invented for me, and that I was to be Grand Singier duRoi. I believe he pushed my cause, and so did the little Duke ofBurgundy, and finally I got the pension without the office, and agood deal of occasional employment besides, in the way oftranslation of documents. There were moments of success at play.Oh yes, quite fairly, any one with wits about him can make hisprofit in the long-run among the Court set. And thus I had enoughto purchase a pretty little estate and chateau on the coast ofNormandy, the confiscated property of a poor Huguenot refugee, sothat it went cheap. It gives the title of Pilpignon, which Iassumed in kindness to the tongues of my French friends. So yousee, I have a station and property to which to carry you, my fairone, won by myself, though only by catching an ape."

He went on to say that the spot had been chosen advisedly, with aview to communication with the opposite coast, where his oldconnection with the smugglers was likely to be useful in theJacobite plots. "As you well know," he said, "my father had donehis utmost to make Whiggery stink in my nostrils, to say nothing ofthe kindness I have enjoyed from our good Queen; and I was ready todo my utmost in the cause, especially after I had stolen a glimpseof you, and when Charnock, poor fellow, returning from reconnoitringamong the loyal, told me that you were still unmarried, and livingas a dependent in the Archfields' house. Our headquarters were inRomney Marsh, but it was as well to have, as it were, a back doorhere, and as it has turned out it has been the saving of some ofus."

"Oh, sir! you were not in that wicked plot?"

"Nay; surely _you_ are not turned Whig."

"But this was assassination."

"Not at all, if they would have listened to me. The Dutchman is nobigger than I am. I could have dropped on him from one of his treesat Hampton Court, or through a window, via presto, and we would havehad him off by the river, given him an interview to beg his uncle'spardon, and despatched him for the benefit of his asthma to thecompany of the Iron Mask at St. Marguerite; then back again, theKing to enjoy his own again, Dr. Woodford, archbishop or bishop ofwhatever you please, and a lady here present to be Marquise dePilpignon, or Countess of Havant, whichever she might prefer. Yes,truly those were the hopes with which I renewed my communicationswith the contraband trade on this coast, a good deal more numeroussince the Dutchman and his wars have raised the duties and drivenmany good men to holes and corners.

"Ever since last spring, when the Princess Royal died, and thusextinguished the last spark of forbearance in the King's breast, Ihave been here, there, and everywhere--Romney Marsh, Drury Lane,Paris, besides this place and Pilpignon, where I have a snug harbourfor the yacht, Ma Belle Annik, as the Breton sailors call her. Thecrew are chiefly Breton; it saves gossip; but I have a boat's crewof our own English folk here, stout fellows, ready for anything byland or sea."

"The Black Gang," said Anne faintly.

"Don't suppose I have meddled in their exploits on the road," hesaid, "except where a King's messenger or a Royal mail wasconcerned, and that is war, you know, for the cause. Unluckily mypersonal charms are not easily disguised, so that I have had to lurkin the background, and only make my private investigations in theguise of my own ghost."

"Then so it was you saved the dear little Philip?" said Anne.

"The Archfield boy? I could not see a child sent to his destructionby that villain Sedley, whoever were his father, for he meantmischief if ever man did. 'Twas superhuman scruple not to hold yourpeace and let him swing."

"What was it, then, on his cousin's part?"

Peregrine only answered with a shrug. It appeared further, that aslong as the conspirators had entertained any expectation of success,he had merely kept a watch over Anne, intending to claim her in thehour of the triumph of his party, when he looked to enjoy such aposition as would leave his brother free to enjoy his paternalinheritance. In the failure of all their schemes through Mr.Pendergrast's denunciation, Sir George Barclay, and one or twoinferior plotters, had succeeded in availing themselves of theassistance of the Black Gang, and had been conducted by Peregrine tothe hut that he had fitted up for himself. Still trusting to thesecurity there, although his name of Piers Pilgrim or de Pilpignonhad been among those given up to the Privy Council, he had insistedon lingering, being resolved that an attempt should be made to carryaway the woman he had loved for so many years. Captain Burford hadso disguised himself as to be able to attend the trial, loiter aboutthe inn, and collect intelligence, while the others waited on thedowns. Peregrine had watched over the capture, but being unwillingto disclose himself, had ridden on faster and crossed direct,traversing the Island on horseback, while the captive was roundingit in the boat. "As should never have been done," he said, "could Ihave foretold to what stress of weather you would be exposed while Iwas preparing for your reception. But for this storm--it rageslouder than ever--we would have been married by a little parson whomBurford would have fetched from Portsmouth, and we should have beenover the Channel, and my people hailing my bride with ecstasy."

"Never!" exclaimed Anne. "Can you suppose I could accept one whowould leave an innocent man to suffer?"

"People sometimes are obliged to accept," said Peregrine. Then ather horrified start, "No, no, fear no violence; but is not somethingdue to one who has loved you through exile all these years, andwould lay down his life for you? you, the only being who overcomeshis evil angel!"

"This is what you call overcoming it," she said.

"Nay; indeed, Mistress Anne, I would let the authorities know thatthey are hanging a man for murdering one who is still alive if Icould; but no one would believe without seeing, and I and all whocould bear witness to my existence would be rushing to an end evenworse than a simple noose. You were ready enough to denounce him tosave that worthless fellow."

"Not ready. It tore my heart. But truth is truth. I could not dothat wickedness. Oh! how can you? This _is_ the prompting of theevil spirit indeed, to expect me to join in leaving that innocent,generous spirit to die in cruel injustice. Let me go. I will notbetray where you are. You will be safe in France; but there willyet be time for me to bear witness to your life. Write a letter.Your father would thankfully swear to your handwriting, and I thinkthey would believe me. Only let me go."

"And what then becomes of the hopes of a lifetime?" demandedPeregrine. "I, who have waited as long as Jacob, to be defraudednow I have you; and for the sake of the fellow who killed me in willif not in deed, and then ran away like a poltroon leaving you tobear the brunt!"

"He did not act like a poltroon when he saved the life of hisgeneral, or when he rescued the colours of his regiment, still lesswhen he stood up to save me from the pain of bearing witness againsthim, and to save a guiltless man," cried Anne, with flashing eyes.

Before she had finished her indignant words, Hans was coming in fromsome unknown region to lay the cloth for supper, and Peregrine, withan imprecation under his breath, had gone to the door to admit histwo comrades, who came into the narrow entry on a gust of wind as itwere, struggling out of their cloaks, stamping and swearing.

In the middle of the day, they had been much more restrained intheir behaviour. There had at that time been a slight clearance inthe sky, though the wind was as furious as ever, and they were inhaste to despatch the meal and go out again to endeavour to stand onthe heights and to watch some vessels that were being tossed by thestorm. Almost all the conversation had then been on the chances oftheir weathering the tempest, and the probability of its lasting on,and they had hurried away as soon as possible. Anne had not thenknown who they were, and only saw that they were fairly civil toher, and kept under a certain constraint by Pilpignon, as theycalled their host. Now she fully knew the one who was addressed asSir George to be Barclay, the prime mover in the wicked scheme ofassassination of which all honest Tories had been so much ashamed,and she could see Captain Burford to be one of those bravoes whowere only too plentiful in those days, attending on dissolute andviolent nobles.

She was the less inclined to admit their attentions, and shieldedherself with a grave coldness of stately manners; but their talk wasfar more free than at noon, suggesting the thought that they hadanticipated the meal with some of the Nantz or other liquors thatseemed to be in plenty.

They began by low bows of affected reverence, coarser and worse inthe ruffian of inferior grade, and the knight complimented Pilpignonon being a lucky dog, and hoped he had made the best use of his timein spite of the airs of his duchess. It was his own fault if hewere not enjoying such fair society, while they, poor devils, werebuffeting with the winds, which had come on more violently thanever. Peregrine broke in with a question about the vessels insight.

There was an East Indiaman, Dutch it was supposed, laying-to, thatwas the cause of much excitement. "If she drives ashore our fellowswill neither be to have nor to hold," said Sir George.

"They will obey me," said Peregrine quietly.

"More than the sea will just yet," laughed the captain. "However,as soon as this villainous weather is a bit abated, I'll be offacross the Island to do your little errand, and only ask a kiss ofthe bride for my pains; but if the parson be at Portsmouth therewill be no getting him to budge till the water is smooth. Nevermind, madam, we'll have a merry wedding feast, whichever side of thewater it is. I should recommend the voyage first for my part."

All Anne could do was to sit as upright and still as she could,apparently ignoring the man's meaning. She did not know howdignified she looked, and how she was daunting his insolence. Whenpresently Sir George Barclay proposed as a toast a health to thebride of to-morrow, she took her part by raising the glass to herlips as well as the gentlemen, and adding, "May the brides be happy,wherever they may be."

"Coy, upon my soul," laughed Sir George. "You have not made thebest of your opportunities, Pil." But with an oath, "It becomes herwell."

"A truce with fooling, Barclay," muttered Peregrine.

"Come, come, remember faint heart--no lowering your crest, more thanenough to bring that devilish sparkle in the eyes, and turn of theneck!"

"Sir," said Anne rising, "Monsieur de Pilpignon is an old neighbour,and understands how to respect his most unwilling guest. I wish youa good-night, gentlemen. Guennik, venez ici, je vous prie."

Guennik, the Breton boatswain's wife, understood French thus far,and comprehended the situation enough to follow willingly, leavingthe remainder of the attendance to Hans, who was fully equal to it.The door was secured by a long knife in the post, but Anne couldhear plainly the rude laugh at her entrenchment within her fortressand much of the banter of Peregrine for having proceeded no further.It was impossible to shut out all the voices, and very alarming theywere, as well as sometimes so coarse that they made her cheeks glow,while she felt thankful that the Bretonne could not understand.

These three men were all proscribed traitors in haste to be off, butPeregrine, to whom the yacht and her crew belonged, had lingered toobtain possession of the lady, and they were declaring that now theyhad caught his game and given him his toy, they would brook nolonger delay than was absolutely necessitated by the storm, andmarried or not married, he and she should both be carried offtogether, let the damsel-errant give herself what haughty airs shewould. It was a weak concession on their part to the old Puritanscruples that he might have got rid of by this time, to attempt tobring about the marriage. They jested at him for being afraid ofher, and then there were jokes about gray mares.

The one voice she could not hear was Peregrine's, perhaps because herealised more than they did that she was within ear-shot, andbesides, he was absolutely sober; but she thought he silenced them;and then she heard sounds of card-playing, which made anaccompaniment to her agonised prayers.

CHAPTER XXXIII: BLACK GANG CHINE

"Come, Lady; while Heaven lends us grace,Let us fly this cursed place,Lest the sorcerer us enticeWith some other new device.Not a word or needless soundTill we come to holier ground.I shall be your faithful guideThrough this gloomy covert wide."

MILTON.

Never was maiden in a worse position than that in which AnneWoodford felt herself when she revolved the matter. The back of theIsle of Wight, all along the Undercliff, had always had a wildreputation, and she was in the midst of the most lawless of men.Peregrine alone seemed to have any remains of honour or conscience,and apparently he was in some degree in the hands of his associates.Even if the clergyman came, there was little hope in an appeal tohim. Naval chaplains bore no good reputation, and Portsmouth andCowes were haunted by the scum of the profession. All that seemedpossible was to commit herself and Charles to Divine protection, andin that strength to resist to the uttermost. The tempest hadreturned again, and seemed to be raging as much as ever, and thedelay was in her favour, for in such weather there could be noputting to sea.

She was unwilling to leave the stronghold of her chamber, but Hanscame to announce breakfast to her, telling her that the Mynheerenwere gone, all but Massa Perry; and that gentleman came forward tomeet her just as before, hoping 'those fellows had not disturbed herlast night.'

"I could not help hearing much," she said gravely.

"Brutes!" he said. "I am sick of them, and of this life. Save forthe King's sake, I would never have meddled with it."

The roar of winds and waves and the beat of spray was still to beheard, and in the manifest impossibility of quitting the place andthe desire of softening him, Anne listened while he talked in adifferent mood from the previous day. The cynical tone was gone, ashe spoke of those better influences. He talked of Mrs. Woodford andhis deep affection for her, of the kindness of the good priests atHavre and Douai, and especially of one Father Seyton, who had triedto reason with him in his bitter disappointment, and savagepenitence on finding that 'behind the Cross lurks the Devil,' asmuch at Douai as at Havant. He told how a sermon of the AbbeFenelon's had moved him, and how he had spent half a Lent in theseverest penance, but only to have all swept away again in the wildand wicked revelry with which Easter came in. Again he describedhow his heart was ready to burst as he stood by Mrs. Woodford'sgrave at night and vowed to disentangle himself and lead a new life.

"And with you I shall," he said.

"No," she answered; "what you win by a crime will never do yougood."

"A crime! 'Tis no crime. You _know_ I mean honourable marriage.You owe no duty to any one."

"It is a crime to leave the innocent to undeserved death," she said.

"Do you love the fellow?" he cried, with a voice rising to a shoutof rage.

"Yes," she said firmly.

"Why did not you say so before?"

"Because I hoped to see you act for right and justice sake," wasAnne's answer, fixing her eyes on him. "For God's sake, not mine."

"Yours indeed! Think, what can be his love to mine? He who letthem marry him to that child, while I struggled and gave upeverything. Then he runs away--_runs away_--leaving you all thedistress; never came near you all these years. Oh yes! he looksdown on you as his child's governess! What's the use of loving him?There's another heiress bespoken for him no doubt."

"No. His parents consent, and we have known one another's love forsix years."

"Oh, that's the way he bound you to keep his secret! He would singanother song as soon as he was out of this scrape."

"You little know!" was all she said.

"Ay!" continued Peregrine, pacing up and down the room, "you knowthat all that was wanting to fill up the measure of my hatred wasthat he should have stolen your heart."

"You cannot say that, sir. He was my kind protector and helper fromour very childhood. I have loved him with all my heart ever since Idurst."

"Ay, the great straight comely lubbers have it all their own waywith the women," said he bitterly. "I remember how he rushedheadlong at me with the horse-whip when I tripped you up at theSlype, and you have never forgiven that."

"Oh! indeed I forgot that childish nonsense long ago. You neverserved me so again."

"No indeed, never since you and your mother were the first to treatme like a human being. You will be able to do anything with me,sweetest lady; the very sense that you are under the same roof makesanother man of me. I loathe what I used to enjoy. Why, the verysight of you, sitting at supper like the lady in Comus, in yoursweet grave dignity, made me feel what I am, and what those men are.I heard their jests with your innocent ears. With you by my sidethe Devil's power is quelled. You shall have a peaceful beneficentlife among the poor folk, who will bless you; our good and graciousQueen will welcome you with joy and gratitude; and when the goodtime comes, as it must in a few years, you will have honours anddignities lavished on you. Can you not see what you will do forme?"

"Do you think a broken-hearted victim would be able to do you anygood?" said she, looking up with tears in her eyes. "I _do_believe, sir, that you mean well by me, in your own way, and Icould, yes, I can, be sorry for you, for my mother did feel for you,and yours has been a sad life; but how could I be of any use orcomfort to you if you dragged me away as these cruel men propose,knowing that he who has all my heart is dying guiltless, andthinking I have failed him!" and here she broke down in an agony ofweeping, as she felt the old power in his eyes that enforcedsubmission.

He marched up and down in a sort of passion. "Don't let me see youweep for him! It makes me ready to strangle him with my own hands!"

A shout of 'Pilpignon!' at the door here carried him off, leavingAnne to give free course to the tears that she had hitherto beenable to restrain, feeling the need of self-possession. She had verylittle hope, since her affection for Charles Archfield seemed onlyto give the additional sting of jealousy, 'cruel as the grave,' tothe vindictive temper Peregrine already nourished, and whichcertainly came from his evil spirit. She shed many tears, andsobbed unrestrainingly till the Bretonne came and patted hershoulder, and said, "Pauvre, pauvre!" And even Hans looked in,saying, "Missee Nana no cry, Massa Perry great herr--very goot."

She tried to compose herself, and think over alternatives to laybefore Peregrine. He might let her go, and carry to Sir EdmundNutley letters to which his father would willingly swear, while hewas out of danger in Normandy. Or if this was far beyond what couldbe hoped for, surely he could despatch a letter to his father, andfor such a price she _must_ sacrifice herself, though it cost heranguish unspeakable to call up the thought of Charles, of littlePhilip, of her uncle, and the old people, who loved her so well, allforsaken, and with what a life in store for her! For she had notthe slightest confidence in the power of her influence, whateverPeregrine might say and sincerely believe at present. If therewere, more palpably than with all other human beings, angels of goodand evil contending for him, swaying him now this way and now that;it was plain from his whole history that nothing had yet availed tokeep him under the better influence for long together; and shebelieved that if he gained herself by these unjust and cruel meansthe worse spirit would thereby gain the most absolute advantage. Ifher heart had been free, and she could have loved him, she mighthave hoped, though it would have been a wild and forlorn hope; butas it was, she had never entirely surmounted a repulsion from him,as something strange and unnatural, a feeling involving fear, thoughhere he was her only hope and protector, and an utter uncertainty asto what he might do. She could only hope that she might pine awayand die quickly, and _perhaps_ Charles Archfield might know at lastthat it had been for his sake. And would it be in her power to makeeven such terms as these?

How long she wept and prayed and tried to 'commit her way unto theLord' she did not know, but light seemed to be making its way farmore than previously through the shutters closed against the stormwhen Peregrine returned.

"You will not be greatly troubled with those fellows to-day," hesaid; "there's a vessel come on the rocks at Chale, and every manand mother's son is gone after it." So saying he unfastened theshutters and let in a flood of sunshine. "You would like a littleair," he said; "'tis all quiet now, and the tide is going down."

After two days' dark captivity, Anne could not but be relieved bycoming out, and she was anxious to understand where she was. Itwas, though only in March, glowing with warmth, as the sun beatagainst the cliffs behind, of a dark red brown, in many placesabsolutely black, in especial where a cascade, swelled by the rainsinto imposing size, came roaring, leaping, and sparkling down a